


One Headlight

by LinksLipsSinkShips



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinksLipsSinkShips/pseuds/LinksLipsSinkShips
Summary: No matter how many cases, no matter how many chances he gave for somebody to take him out, it never happened. Just like nobody ever bothered to bulldoze the damn houses on that side of town. Hank would stay there until he crumbled; they’d stay until they did.





	One Headlight

**Author's Note:**

> _Well this place is old  
>  It feels just like a beat up truck  
> I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn  
> Well it smells of cheap wine, cigarettes  
> This place is always such a mess  
> Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn  
> I'm so alone and I feel just like somebody else  
> Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same  
> But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams  
> I think of death, it must be killin' me_
> 
> -One Headlight, The Wallflowers

The city was dying. Or, parts of it were. The way that decaying buildings gave way to rusted metal, the skeletons of the city branching into the air. There were buildings there once, plants and factories, things that mattered. The neighborhoods that surrounded them were half-abandoned, bits of pipes from the ground, the rest of the building fallen into ash around them, the graveyards of broken hopes and dreams, people who had moved in with big ideas and left just as quickly when the jobs did, when the factories were shuttered.

Not all of Detroit was like that, obviously. There were parts of it that were still well-maintained, beautiful, like nothing had happened. Particularly that giant dick-shaped CyberLife building.

Hank didn’t care about that, though. No, if he was honest with himself, he was more like the well-worn parts of town, the stuff that was mostly gone, padlocks on doors to keep trespassers out as if the walls weren’t crumbling just beside them, glass broken on the windows.

That was Hank. Hank was just like those buildings and he knew it. Useless, used up, aching. Sometimes he’d sit on a bench near the bridge, stare out at the city, dream of driving over, lighting a match, dropping it, watching it burn from where he was sitting now. Too bad he didn’t smoke anymore, or he’d consider it stronger. Probably a waste of gasoline if he was honest.

Same reason he gave up every time he started to drink, put the gun back on the table. Most of the time he felt like he’d just be a waste of a good bullet anyway. That’s what he was, waste of space, going through the motions and not living. Crumbling to the ground like those damned houses, those damned factories, this entire damned city outside of CyberLife and their stupid fucking hunks of plastic.

There wasn’t any reason for him to keep going except for the fact that his body hadn’t bothered to give out yet. Useless piece of flesh, couldn’t even fail like it was supposed to. No matter how many cases, no matter how many chances he gave for somebody to take him out, it never happened. Just like nobody ever bothered to bulldoze the damn houses on that side of town. He’d stay there until he crumbled; they’d stay until they did.

For the time being, he was just doing what he could to get through, to not think about the parallels and the way he was beaten down and beaten up and giving up entirely. That’s why he was slumped over in Jimmy’s bar. It was enough to take his mind off of things at least.

Hank didn’t have the will to live and didn’t have the energy to die. But he could drink. He could certainly, damned well, easily fucking drink. All he needed was one nudge. One nudge forward, one nudge back, someone to push him closer to the cliff or someone to pull him back from it. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Not a chance in hell was anybody going to save him, but not a chance was anyone going to waste their time on putting him out of his misery.

“Another one,” he said, sliding his glass forward and waiting for Jimmy to pour him another one. The burn of it going down didn’t matter. He’d been doing this so long he didn’t notice. Comfortably numb and getting number until he was nothing.

One thing. One drink. One person. Forward. Back.

One saving grace away from being okay, maybe. One close call away from being gone, probably. “Another one,” he ordered.

All it would take was one moment to snap him out of it. That seemed unlikely. In a city built on ruins, Detroit was being kept alive by CyberLife. Hank couldn’t say the same for himself. He was kept alive by whiskey and a lack of nerve.

“Hi, I’m Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Maybe Connor could save the city. Hank was damned sure he couldn’t save him.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe magicbubblepipe the world after helping me feel more confident about this pile of self-loathing.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at one-more-deviant


End file.
